


In Half-Light

by jenni3penny



Series: Charlotte Harper & Morgan Mae [1]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: "He can't hear that voice while putting his hand where he intends on putting it but he can't seem to find the 'mute' button either. He also can't tune Sloan out all that easily, unfortunately, and therein lies the problem. Especially when his wife smells like the warm and laundry soaped comfort of their own bedclothes, their bedroom, the combination of them (minus work or the world or anything that distracts them)." Post-series. Post Las Vegas/Mandalay Bay. Smut-ish interruptus.





	1. Chapter 1

He intentionally catches her off guard as he tugs at her hips, hushes her squeaked sound of surprise with a breathy laugh and a handful of the silken robe he'd bought her a year previous. Suddenly he has a glorious lap full of sleepy MacKenzie Morgan in deep blue silk and what (promisingly) looks like nothing else. Which, really, has always been one of his favorite morning pastimes anyhow. There hasn't been a morning in his adult life, since he's met Mac, that he hasn't wanted her curled up somewhere with him and laughing as he wraps her closer.

“Mornin', sweetheart.”

He knows they don't have all that long (that is, if his child's penchant for staying tuned right to schedule serves him right). They don't have long because it's absolutely insane that they should even be meeting like this and it doesn't make any sort of sense that he hasn't gone to bed yet as she's already making her morning coffee. Their kitchen at four in the morning is usually dark and hushed but since Mandalay Bay he's been swinging long shifts with both Elliot and Sloan and she's been getting into the office as early as possible, just to keep as far ahead of the news cycle as she can. And he'd left Sloan on air a couple hours before so her pert voice hums in the background, the television echoing quietly from the opposite side of the kitchen. He blindly fidgets the tiny remote closer from across the table, buries his face deeper into MacKenzie's dark and bed-mussed hair as he tries to mute the thing at least. He can't hear that voice while putting his hand where he intends on putting it but he can't seem to find the 'mute' button either. He also can't tune Sloan out all that easily, unfortunately, and therein lies the problem. Especially when his wife smells like the warm and laundry soaped comfort of their own bedclothes, their bedroom, the combination of them (minus work or the world or anything that distracts them).

“ _Mmmm_ , good morning,” Mac murmurs as he forgets the remote and carefully draws her farther into his lap, letting her relax after the surprise of grabbing her down into him.

She's suddenly far more pliant and leaning and the length of her warmly molds against him in a way that always makes him feel like he's in precisely the place he belongs. Something about the way MacKenzie moves against him will always remind him why he's alive and even the way she settles into his lap makes him breathe a little easier. Will strokes his hands slowly up the silken cobalt blue of her robe, slicking it against her skin and teasing his hands up under her breasts. He's got palms full of her and silk and he just buries his face deeper into her hair as he cups her breasts in his hands and enjoys the moan she gives him in answer. He palms her breasts, purposely slicks silk against her nipples and squeezes, using the fabric to tease her as she arches farther into his hands.

And _still_... Sloan's voice bouncing around in the kitchen...

The television's _gotta_ go.

He's missed being in bed with his wife too many mornings in a row and he'll be goddamned if _Little Sister_ is getting in the way of the only quiet time they've got available to them before he crashes into exhaustion and/or Charlotte explodes her way into the kitchen. She'll want her mother and then her breakfast and in that order and he can't blame a nearly four year old for wanting to be sure that her _Mum_ 's still somewhere nearby. It never fails that she's got to be sure of MacKenzie's presence before anything else can take place. He thinks it may possibly be the one thing that guarantees she comes from him biologically, actually - the fact that any time she walks into a room she's got to locate MacKenzie McHale before moving onward. Well, that and the blue of her eyes when she's sleepy and cuddly and looking for love from her parents. It's the closest he thinks she ever looks like him instead of just a lighter haired and fairer skinned version of her mother. It's always when her eyes are brazen blue but yearning for love.

He slides one hand off Mac's hip and reaches toward the table, once again searching out the remote. “I can't... Sloan's voice in my ear is destroying any chance of keeping an erection here, hon.”

“ _Billy_ ,” she near whines at his commentary, voice a rasping as she takes the remote from his reaching and turns the TV off entirely. It clatters its way back to the table top and he hushes her, makes a shushing noise between his teeth and stills them a moment. Laughter comes up off his lips and she matches it, the both of them trying to be quiet and failing while so sleepily unguarded.

“Just sit here a sec',” he hums into her hair, wrapping his arms tighter so that she's gotta wiggle and shift and find a new balance to the way he's got her straddled over one long thigh. His erection is making itself well known against the back of her leg and she seems to enjoy it, shifting purposely harder against him. “You smell like sleep. It's sexy as fuck.”

She sighs a sort of acceptance to the compliment, more concerned with getting him to kiss her than hearing anything he has to say. Her smile brushes against the corner of his mouth and he feels her shoulders bank back into his collarbone, feels her angle her head so that she can kiss just at his jawline and drive him absolutely fucking insane. It's a slow and dazing kiss, one that muddles his mind and words and if someone asked him at that moment to sit at his anchor desk and get extemporaneous he'd likely just fly them the double bird.

“And you taste like an ashtray,” she murmurs against his lips as she ends the slow kiss, a chaste ending to a damn good kiss and suddenly she's frowning at him, at his weakness. “ _Damn it_ , Will.”

“One. I had _one_ with Ray from Graphics,” he snipes back, biting down on the end of his impatience and grumpiness as much as he can. And especially when she draws her head back from his and blinks him a dark look, one brow arched and head tipped at that very particular angle of hers. The one that says he's somehow managed to offend her right in the midst of her caring about him and he instantly cringes toward sheepish. He feels her start to melt back into him as she studies his eyes and it's just one more early morning that he's thankful for his mother's predominant genetics and the fact that Mac McHale can't avoid falling in love with his blue eyes at least once a day.

She sighs hard and taps the pad of her forefinger against his lips, frustration slipping from her face as she blinks into resignation. “ _One_ too many.”

Will smirks and makes light work of the knot in her robe, prying it open with agile fingers as he shrugs sheepishly at her annoyance. There's something to be said for the fact he can still manage to look boyish to her sometimes, impish, and most often when she's already a little swoony. He's saved himself often enough with his grin. “Where's my daughter?”

“Sleeping still. I just checked on her,” she murmurs as her head drops back against his shoulder, her lungs deflating on another long exhalation as one of his hands slips inside the 'V' of dark fabric.

“And how's my wife?” he asks, voice a rasped hush up the back of her ear as he takes one of her breasts in his hand, kneading it gently before rolling the peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Hmm?”

She whimpers in answer and he takes that as positive reinforcement. He takes it as permission to pull her legs farther apart and slide his other palm up one thigh, letting himself stroke smooth skin and wrangle another moan out of her. Her hips shiver under his shifting and he feels it travel up her body, the entirety of her spine arching eagerly as he teases at her. One entire palm presses between her legs, cups against her while he licks at her neck and nuzzles up behind her ear. It's the hushed little whine she makes just as his teeth catch against her ear and his fingers pinch on her nipple that strangles the breath up from his lungs, slashes any coherent thought processes he may have had stirring around before she wandered into the kitchen all tousled and sleep-swept. He near instantly loses half his patience when he looks up to find her biting down on her bottom lip and whimpering with her eyes shut, patience which was already at only half his usual strength.

He doesn't ask or warn or even breathe before he strokes his middle finger into wetness, adding another as she drives the break of her skull back against his shoulder, back arching up. A few strokes and he teases at putting them inside her only briefly, kissing and licking and nipping down the side of her neck as he finds her clit instead. A delighted but also relieved moan slowly exhales out of her, one of her hands lifting to catch his jaw and stroke back, bracing on the side of his neck as he continues teasing her. His fingers move slowly at first, and purposefully. He's got measured movements as one hand works between her thighs, teasing her clit, the other hand still working its way back and forth between her breasts.

For one brief moment he wishes he could see her from the other side as well, imagines she's utterly gorgeous as she stretches the long length of herself up and turns her head. His left hand rises as she turns her face, his fingers stroking at her throat as she kisses him strongly, possessively.

He'll readily admit that there's something about marriage and parenthood that's changed them.

Because she kisses him so freely, without an ounce of reservation. She kisses him now like she doesn't have to wish for anything else, ever again.

“My wife is _wet_ ,” he whispers, feeling breathless and briefly sucking against the fingertip she's sent wandering on his bottom lip. He's so fucking hard he can't even see straight. Blind white and mind blown and she smells fucking divine. It's Mac and sex and sleep, it's home, and there's nothing he craves more after an exhausting day (or three) than all those things at once. There's literally nothing in the world he wants more than to just put his mouth to her and make those moans last longer, louder. “So wet.”

She's gotten near a hundred times quieter since Charlotte was born, her screams now becoming long and sensual moans that she sometimes bites into his pillow or wrist or shoulder. He misses making her wail it out, though. Sometimes. When he just yearns for the years they missed, aches to bring them back to them to try all over again. So much time they (he _and_ she) wasted. He's still trying to make it up to her at the breakfast table, years later.

Still... she's fucking sexy when she bites her bottom lip white and whimpers in his arms, shivering in his lap and trying to fight the way her hips move just for him. And he firmly trusts in that now – the fact that all the little things are for him and only him. She's proven it over and again now, really.

“I missed having you in bed with me. I watched as long as I could last night.” Her accent is always sweeter and more lilting when she's saying something so light and loving, when she's speaking to just him, just her husband, just _her_ Will. He can always just barely hear the difference but it's there, it exists in the delicate thinness of her breath as it weaves its way through the words, curls up around them.

He rubs his cheek into the silk on her upper arm, lets his stubble catch into the light fabric and slide it between them. Languidly he slides his fingers from inside her, massaging her clit again slowly and in lazy circles, intent on drawing her pleasure out. “You sleep all right? Hmm?”

“Not without you, no,” she pouts out on a whimper, her voice quietly pulling at him, deliberately twining him closer. “Have you eaten anything since last night?”

Will reflexively grins at how much loving the question implies, how gently it's spoken. She can be so frenetic and sharp sometimes, so fractured even while being brilliant – but he just adores when she's soft and sweet. He blinks before he shrugs, his shoulders sagging low as he curls her closer and sighs.

“Nope. Been waiting for my breakfast, though.” He kisses brashly against the side of her head, nearly jarring but the way he squeezes on her affectionately softens it. “Up on the table, hon.”

Her body fights back, leaning into his hands even as he tries to encourage her up. “Will - ”

“Kenz, I just want - ”

“ _Will_.” Her nails dig into his wrist suddenly and it actually draws a flinch out of him, just by how deeply she digs in. The strike of stillness that takes her body pauses most of his movements as well and he feels her exhale before pressing her lips lightly to his temple, kissing warning words to his skin. “Your daughter's awake.”

He stutters up mentally in surprise, confusion, his voice a whisper. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Bedroom door,” she answers gently, apologetically.

Still, it's a frozen moment between them, one that allows him the sound of her long sigh and the smell of her skin flushed with want. One moment more and just before -

“Mummy?!”

Will McAvoy is a father who is, admittedly, perpetually smitten by his own cheeky and adorable daughter. She's got a sparkled smile and a tiny little nose that kills him dead.

But some mornings he seriously reconsiders an ill-advised comeback of ether, laudanum, lithium, any of those sorts of things which would just temporarily knock the kid out long enough for him to get her mother to just come in his lap and tell him -

“I'll get her. You just...” She trails off as she carefully stands, her face flushed pink and obviously chagrined on his behalf while she re-adjusts her robe. Her lips pout up at him as she makes sure she's covered again, brow furrowed as she brushes his hair back from his face. The full palm of her hand curls against the back of his head as she nods over him. “Just relax, Billy.”

He leans forward and lets her cup his jaw in her hand like she has hundreds of times other than this, over and again throughout years and every time it still tugs at something mid-chest like she's got a gossamer (maybe indestructible) love-line fish-hooked into the center of his chest – and then she just _pulls_ , like it's nothin' at all.

“M'so hard, Mac.” And he's going to have to distract himself out of it somehow.

He's going to have to back himself away from nearly coming in his pants.

It's not like she hasn't worked him right up into an interruption before, it's just... well, Charlie is a morning “ _Hugs me, Daddy_!” sorta girl and he's gotta shake his head clear of everything MacKenzie and get his game face on.

She gives him another deeply apologetic look just before the other hand reaches for the remote, turning the television on and upping the volume until Sloan's voice cradles into the middle of their kitchen. It sounds as though that's just where it belongs in the early morning haziness and these are the days when he hates that she's so goddamn good at her job.

“ _Mummy_?!”

He watches Mac walk away with a grimace on his face before he gingerly stands to wash his hands.

He fiercely loves the other women in their lives, he really truly does.

But if it were up to his self-proclaimed sister and his own often traitorous daughter?

He'd _never_ get laid again.


	2. Chapter 2

She ends up in the chair that he's left empty, her heart rate slowing and Charlie's favorite throw blanket from the couch wrapped around both of them. Her daughter can't seem to help fiddling with her hair in half-sleep, half-morning-light. Mac watches Will quietly but appreciatively, one of her arms curled around the way Charlotte is huddled in her lap. She's got her coffee in the other hand and she savors watching him make breakfast while she cuddles their daughter in the slow rising brightness of oncoming morning. The kitchen smells of bacon and batter and strongly brewed coffee. And sleepiness, actually. As though it's a thing that lives in their house with them, an entity that mainly survives on early mornings and Will McAvoy's penchant for wanting to feed his family while they're still half dreaming themselves toward awake.

“Sloan.” Charlotte mumbles at her, lifting her head up farther so that she can crane a glance around to the television. “Mummy, Sloan's - ”

“Yup.” Mac nods before she sips at her coffee, “I know, darling. She's early, isn't she?”

“Should be Maria. And Tony.”

A snort of derision is echoed by the clatter of a spatula hitting the stove top, his voice a following mutter as he reaches for the batter bowl. “Shouldn't be Tony. Tony should be fired.”

MacKenzie just grins against the lip of her cup before asking “What was that?”

To her there's something still delicious in the long and lean line of him (even after years) as he lifts the bowl to pour, her eyes following his full tall length from top to bottom.

His voice rises from over the stove even as she bites into her bottom lip and regrets not having more time to themselves. “Nothing, Madam President.”

It doesn't take him long to make Charlie a pancake but, hell, she takes advantage of the image he makes, listening to Charlie's even breathing and carefully sorting through a tangle in the girl's hair. It's a few minutes of quiet while he works at it and she just relaxes into the absolute comfort of having all she needs so close and warm.

“It's too early for Tony,” she tells their daughter as she disregards his earlier sarcasm, still following his movements. And she warmly watches him finish and flip the small pancake onto a waiting plate, appreciates the front of him just as much as the back as he settles leaning into the counter edge, relaxed back and smiling sleepily at her. “Soon, though.”

His eyes rove just as appreciatively from her mouth and down, head tipping as he watches the way Charlie's hand gets entangled in long dark hair. “It's a little too early for Pipkin too, isn't it?”

“Yuh,” she tells the both of them without looking up, unconsciously tugging at Mac's hair as she turns her father a pouting and pleading look. “Juice?”

“I'm getting your juice, Charlotte.”

Her head smacks back into Mac's collarbone and she winces at the thunk, lifts her head from how much the child fidgets around to watch Will across the kitchen. “Thanks.”

She can hear him snort a laugh in answer as he tugs down a Charlie-approved juice cup, the teal polka dots over it near blinding in the early morning. There's something humorous but so softly sweet to the image he makes as he finishes pouring a cup of apple juice and heads their way. “You're very welcome.”

She watches their hands, the way he waits until both their daughter's chubby little palms are curled on the cup, her mouth already pressed to the edge as he strokes her hair back. Mac can't help but smile as he laces his fingers into the dark blonde and grins as Charlie's eyes meet his over the top of the cup as she drinks. She draws the cup away and lifts her head quickly, drawing laughter bubbling off him as she wipes her face against his wrist with a cheeky giggling of her own. She keeps trying to wipe leftover apple juice onto the sleeve of his shirt even as his other hand drops to balance her cup. His fingers playfully tug at her hair and he drops kisses sharply at the top of her head, the both of them forcing Mac to lean away from their silliness just to make space for the half-energy rough housing.

“You can go on to bed, Will. I can finish,” she murmurs as he cuts off his daughter's laugh with a sharp kiss against her pinkened up cheek.

“Come with me,” he demands in answer, kissing Mac's cheek just as sharply and with just the same amount of teasing mirth. She turns her mouth to his on the rebound, playing along and making Charlie squeal in laughter as he chuckles into the kiss she's demanding.

“Because the news happens, with or without me?” she whispers upward as he draws away from the kiss and laughter, genuine happiness brightening his eyes to crystalline.

His hand lifts so the he can wipe at her bottom lip, the pad of his thumb slow and gentle. “As you're so fond of telling me, yes, MacKenzie. It does.”

“You know that I can't,” she tells him quietly, drawing back the edge of the blanket as he lifts Charlie's hand into his own. She marvels at how small their daughter's hand still is in his, even as gently as he holds against her fingers. “Evening hours only for you, sir. Regular scheduling and once Elliot is finished we're gonna toss it to Washington for the overnight. Let them lose some sleep.”

“I'm _in_ this discussion now. Mac. You should know that. Consider yourself forewarned,” he tells her without apology. There's no regret in his tone, just assurance and certitude as he lifts against Charlie's hand and leans into her reaching. The girl stretches toward him and, without pause, he just leans into it, lifting her into his chest with strong arms and unabashed adoration.

Mac watches lovingly, her hand spreading the blanket out against her thigh as she crosses one leg over the other. “You were in it before, Will. You've been a front runner in the gun debate for years.”

“Yeah, but this is a come to Jesus or sign with the Devil sorta moment. We need to force people to move, one direction or the other. We need to force governance. I mean...” The whole of him seems to ache from very center and outward as he hugs his daughter close. Charlie is perfectly happy clinging around her father's neck as he sighs, receiving all his loving attention at once. Something low in Mac's gut just tweaks hard and up toward her lungs when he curls the girl's head under his jaw and half side kisses against the messed mass of her tangled hair. One long arm has her securely caught into his chest and he's quiet when he speaks again, voice a low but consistent murmur, “Sandy Hook alone was just mentally inconceivable, Kenz. Orlando? And now this? It has to end, hon. ”

“Don't get riled up yet. Just get a little sleep first.”

“Daddy?” Charlie tugs at his attention, same as she usually does.

And he simply grins in answer at first, eyes brightening even further.“Yes, baby?”

“Listen to Mum.”

“Yes, baby. I promise,” Will agrees quietly, letting his daughter pinch on his cheeks and laugh when he makes a funny face at her, an equally ridiculous noise coming out of him that has Charlie fully enthralled as she squeezes at his cheeks. She squeals in laughter as the noise drones louder and longer and Mac gives him a look, brow arched as he swings their child back in her direction. The noise he'd been making shortens to nothing and he swallows a hard breath as he plops Charlie down again.

Mac tucks the girl back under the blanket they'd been using, playfully tying them up together into a knot of warmth as Will turns back toward the counter and flicks the heat back on for one of the burners. He's already working on another pancake, the first from earlier dropped on the plate and cooling for their daughter.

She smiles as Charlie snuggles deeper into their self-made cocoon, prying a tangle from the lighter than brown hair. “Can I tell you some numbers then? Calmly?”

His shoulders are broad as he shrugs and perfectly made from where she's sitting, his torso deliciously long and still tapered and she could watch him cook for hours if she had the time. “Hit me.”

“Paddock killed, at the least, 58 people. Injured 500, yes? Factually we can agree on that?”

The spatula he's been using comes up to stall her up, his head turning to the side in answer. “You mean ' _we_ ' in the broader social sense, right? Because, despite political differences, you and I are both on the same side of people _not_ getting dead from a lunatic gunman shooting into a crowd of - ”

“I mean the numbers withstand criticism, yes? Factual evidence,” she interrupts, still watching the quick moving shift of him as he flips her breakfast with ease. He leaves it to cook and moves down the counter and the shift of him as we moves toward the table does something to her, sparks heat into the center of her chest and it brands itself down her entire spine. He's on a mission to grab up all they need from the counter and dump it onto the table and she watches him with half interest but full adoration.

“Sure, yeah,” he shrugs into finally setting a cartoon plate with the cooled pancake onto the table, Charlie's bulky and bright plastic cutlery following into her waiting hands. “C'mere, Pip.”

“All right,” Mac nods as she hands the girl up to him, lets him set Charlie to her own chair as she sorts syrup and extra paper towel napkins from the roll he's already set to the table. “The Battle of Fallujah lasted a little over eighty days and is considered one of the most arduous campaigns in the recent Irag War, yes?”

The last little fuss he makes is pulling the apple juice nearer Charlotte's reach before he's back to the stove top. “Mac, I'm too tired to try and divine - ”

“American forces lost 82 lives and around 600 were wounded in those eighty days.” She tries to keep her voice calmed, even. Especially when she knows he's short on patience and exhausted, emotionally bankrupt in regards to politics. “Paddock nearly matched those losses in less than twelve minutes, by himself, and with a technically _legal_ arsenal.”

“On American soil, killing unarmed and untrained civilians,” he murmurs in understanding, the reality of the numbers seeming to sickly pale him somewhat in morning light. “I need the numbers for - ”

“Jim's got them for you already,” she whispers, catching the pained flinch in his blue eyes, the way his forehead pinches up tight. “I'll clean up. Tell your daughter ' _good night_ '.”

It takes him a moment to shake off the weight of the point she'd been trying to make, his body physically shifting to shrug it off and she's sure that he doesn't realize he's made the movement in his shoulders. “Only if you tell my wife she's the sexiest thing I've _ever_ seen.”

“Don't sleep all day,” she whispers into the way he leans over them, loving the feel of him enclosing her against the chair as he kisses her forehead, her cheek, right in front of her ear and taunting. “I want you in bed tonight.”

“Yes, ma'am.” It's a groan from his lungs and up, oxygen making the sound a bit lighter and breathier than normal. He gives her a good-natured wink before turning toward his daughter with a severe look, one that's near a frown. “Be a good girl today, Pip. Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“No biting no fighting, no crying.” He stands back to full height, shifting down the table so that he can reach out and stroke Charlie's hair back from her face, her eyes suddenly brightly visible and so goddamn beautiful that Mac can't help but watch the girl blink rapidly. “No smoking or gambling? Right?”

“Right,” she agrees brightly and then sobers suddenly, shifts her head and gives her mother an eye-roll of a look. Looking especially adult for all her three years and a handful of months, she sighs, “ _Silly_ , daddy.”

Will's grin from above where she can see lights the kitchen brighter than dawn and Mac just smiles at him in answer, nodding as he ducks a quick kiss against his daughter's hair. “Love you.”

Charlie parrots it back to him with a mouth stuffed by sticky and half chewed pancake and Mac just laughs, smacked back awed by how much the girl looks like him as she grins too.

It's those bold beautiful eyes of his, the ones he so generously shared.

“Mouth shut and chew your food, young lady.”

“G'night, hon,” he says right over her admonition, leaning a kiss onto her mouth gently.

Mac makes sure to catch him half still as he starts to rise from her, the thumb of her right hand rubbing along his bottom lip softly. “I wanna talk tonight, you and me.”

“Wait up for me?”

“Of course, Gorgeous.” She winks at him purposely, just quick enough to draw that seven-point-two-million-a-year smile her way as he pulls back and rises to full height again.

“Eat something, MacKenzie,” he demands as he tries to leave the room, flustered as he tries to recover from nearly walking into the kitchen door frame and she laughs as he re-shuffles his steps. “I mean it!”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to add more to this story and my thanks if you're still reading. What I had intended to be three chapters is now looking more like five? So, conceptually, good comes to those who wait? Lol. Hopefully.

He'd damn near been full asleep and the touch of her fingertips on his cheek wakes him. “Where's Charlie?”

“Picking out her clothes.” Then she chuckles as she leans over him, shrugging in half-light before she stretches onto the bed at his side and leans into him comfortably. “Waiting for Tony.”

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me with the - ”

She kisses him recklessly, interrupts his complaint without much caring that he'd been trying to fall asleep. He's perfectly fine with the intrusion, though. He's got absolutely no issue letting the woman stick her tongue in his mouth and especially when she's so simply domineering, demanding in her movements. Most especially when the moan she makes and leaves laying on his tongue is one of the sweetest he's gotten from her in weeks.

“ _Damn_ , Mrs McAvoy. Did you lock her in her bedroom so I can finish what I - ”

She hums a low and thready sound, letting it rumble from her lips to his as she kisses him. “I'll've soaked my knickers through by ten in the morning and that's entirely your fault, you son of a bitch.”

“Why even wear any?” he laughs into the near dark stillness of their bedroom. His hand comes up and brushes along the side of her head, easing back her hair and slow in movement so that two fingers tuck a loose lock of it behind her ear.

He's not sure if it's the affectionate movement that makes her flush up or if she'd already been pink-cheeked and over-warm.

“Come to bed tonight?” The fact she asks so sweetly... It's not necessarily meant to be erotic or teasing or anything the like - but it sure as hell has him groaning at the hot twitch he gets in gut and groin in response.

Will digs his fingers into her hair and knots the rich chestnut brown between his fingers. “Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

She makes it seem like nothing to meet her lips to his and kiss so softly that he can barely feel it before she speaks against his mouth. “Sleep well, darling.”

He routinely finds it harder to breathe when she's so deliberately sweet and loving and more adept at being a wife than she ever thought she would be, he's sure. She's far more attentive and generous than she's ever given herself credit for and he imagines that (besides her need to mother) it's because she still carries guilt with her like just another item in her purse (but her guilt is so damn heavy anymore, and equally unnecessary).

“Hey,” he speaks gently, “I love you.”

She hums an acceptance against his lips, murmuring a near silent ' _Love you_ ' against his mouth before kissing him strongly. And she's got to press her palm flat to his chest and shove sharp to get him to let her up and going from the bed after a few moments. Will watches her sleepily, half dazed back and half erect and if she were any other woman in the world he'd be happy to just take care of it himself and roll over into exhaustion. But it's Mac and it's one of the best things about his life, really – the fact that he can rely on MacKenzie Morgan to tease him into near death just before she makes him come so hard his head near falls off.

She's likely the best thing in his life, really.

Because he wouldn't have his daughter if not for her - let alone a career, a calling, a home.

She's the epicenter of everything he's built his life ( _his_ family, not his father's) around, and most especially as he falls asleep welled deep in the scent of her, muzzed up warm and clouded in the familiarity of _them_.

 

* * *

 

 

He's never felt more at home in their newsroom as he does when she's in it ( _their_ newsroom now, he truly believes). And despite her office being floors above them, she manages to make her way straying down to visit them all often enough. At first he sees her through the supposed shielding of his glass office doors and he watches her, smiling as he stretches himself back. There's something enticing about watching her (especially from behind) when she's utterly unaware that he's got his eyes on her, when she's completely distracted by her very own passion and so busy that she hasn't the time for him or his attention.

“Will? You hear me?”

Not really, no. Theoretically he realizes that Jim's trying to have a conversation. He's too busy watching his wife's hips and the siren sway of them. “Huh?”

“Rundown,” Jim murmurs with a funny half grin tipping his lips. The younger man's head follows that same angling tilt before he grins entirely, body resting into the door frame. The whole of him becomes a lazy slash of an angle and Will hates that the kid can still pull off boyish and adorable and a margin of 'sweet doofus' just by rumpled shirts and the rebellious way his hair tweaks. “Mac's gonna sit in. Not sure if that helps or hurts your attention span.”

Will grins reflexively, eyes shutting into the re-memory of Mac in his lap, dressed in just silk and half-sleep. “She's likely just a major fuckin' distraction today, Jimmer.”

“Thought we talked about you calling me that?” the younger half asks and half accuses, leaning harder into the door.

“Callin' you what?”

 

* * *

 

 

He's known, for sure, for years, that asking MacKenzie to marry him was probably the smartest decision he's ever made out of blind reflexive idiocy.

But there are days, days that become perfect star points in his brain, days that remind him _why_ it was such an excellent decision... And any day wherein he finds her panties stuffed into the right jacket pocket of his on-air suit, the scent of her perfume still curving the corners of his office twenty minutes before broadcast?

Those are

_the._

_fucking._

_days._


	4. Chapter Four

It's not a surprise when she stretches up the back of him, melting her body to the length of his as she rubs her cheek up and down his bicep. “ _Finally_ home.”

Will makes a sound of agreement deep in his throat, barely more than a grunt as she cuddles her arms around his middle and presses them even closer together. His left side is still mostly leaned wearily into Charlie's bedroom door frame and MacKenzie's made them one joined puzzle corner, bits and elbows wedged together and interlocked. God, he loves her pressed into him, he loves them pressed in tight together, he always has. “And you're a fucking tease, you know that?”

“Kept you on your toes today,” she chuckles into his shirt, turning her face against his sleeve and the moist heat of her breath floods through the weave of the fabric.

“She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Mac,” he exhales quietly and distracted, still watching Charlie sleep and making sure not to make much more than a breath of sound. “How'd we manage that?”

“I honestly don't know, Billy. We're very lucky.”

He looks down to the side at the sound of his nickname because the way she says it pulls at his attention, tugs at the hook she's got laid into his heart. There's something about the way she's smiling at him that's undone all their messes, all the damage they've ever done to one another.

“We are.” He swallows down as he calculates the twist of her fingers down his chest and places his bet on the way she's suddenly letting her eyes lilt with a lush and seemingly physical ache. It's something he's seen before on her, it's familiar but... fuck, it's still so pretty. It's still so intoxicating. “Me more than you though.”

The snarked response she looks like she'd planned is swallowed by the rough grind of his mouth against hers and Mac just grips her hands into his shirt as he fully turns her way. She's knotting the fabric into her fingers roughly and pulling closer as he forces his tongue between her lips and teeth. His palms bracket her hips as she moans and the feel of warm chambray fills his hands, chambray and smooth curves and he's sure that any slip of clothing she could possibly put on is going to feel like an echo of morning silk, even when it's his own button up shirt.

It's all her and heat and it doesn't matter what the clothing is made of – at this point it feels like a sheer satin promise that he's been banking on all day long.

He likes the look of MacKenzie at home (his _wife_ ) just as much (likely _more_ ) than MacKenzie at work.

“Billy?”

“Yeah,” he answers, feeling his voice roughen as his throat constricts and he draws her close, “c'mere.”

She whimpers some at the sudden rasping way he's gripping her hair back off her face and the sound feeds the frenzied way he sucks hard against her tongue and angles his head to deepen the kiss even farther. Her shock lasts only long enough for her hands to shiver before they find purchase in the shirt he's wearing and it's never a fight between them so much as a trade – one for rough and the next is more passionate than the one before and it's a cycle, really. It's theirs, the pattern, it's familiar as he rasps his mouth off hers to drive his kisses down along her turned throat.

“Will, this is your favorite comfy shirt.” She graces out a groan as he sucks against her skin and then flicks his tongue against the mark he’s made. The fabric seems suddenly warmer under his hands if that's even possible. There are only two buttons still done clasped and they're somewhere mid-abdomen and he can't help but lower his mouth farther south between her breasts as he curls his arms gripping around her. He can't help but brace as tightly around her as he possibly can, not when he's spent the day aching to wrap her up all over again.

“That’s why I’m not taking it off you.” There's a confident tweak of contrary smartass in his tone and she exhales a sound of pleasure despite it. She lays out another moan as though tension is loosening out of her, fingers catching against his head as he intentionally drives his mouth down against the top curves of her breasts.

MacKenzie is perpetually smooth silk to him; fine, lustrous, and strong.

There's never been a night (or early-in-the-kitchen morning) that's been any different.

 

* * *

 

 

_Still in Love With William Duncan McAvoy; Reason #2,418:_

He's _always_ been ' _Expert Level_ ' at going down on her.

She'd _never_ argued that, not in the least. He's a goddamn prince, he is.

“Don't you fucking stop, Billy McAvoy,” she demands brightly, bemusedly, all taunt and tease. “I _can_ kill you.”

He's ruined one of her absolute favorite bras and managed to break the last of the buttons on his own favorite shirt and she knows, beyond a doubt, he couldn't care about either, really. Will very rarely cares about things like clothing, furniture, material things – at least not when it comes to what gets in the way of an excellent shag.

And especially not when he's got his mouth between her legs and two fingers buried inside her and suddenly he's laughing his lips up against her leg, chuckling as he kisses her skin.

Not when he slowly pulls his fingers from inside her and the groan that emanates from the base of his lungs is near as desperate as the small sad sound that comes up her.

Not when both his arms are bent at her hips so that his forearms wrap up her legs and she's got a fistful of blonde hair and she's suitably prepared to start making demands.

“I don't think you could, really,” he mutters, teeth nipping lightly at the inside of her right thigh.

She slides her fingers farther into his hair as she stretches whatever she can, enjoying the way she can still get a wild and hard grip on the fading blonde just before she tugs at him and gives him a supposedly murderous glare. “I think your mouth has far better uses, my love.”

His grin is absolutely bright-blue-wicked as the looks up at her, tongue then teeth both roving his bottom lip. “Than what?”

 _God_ , he looks utterly ageless to her when he smiles so rakishly.

“Than being a git.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mac lets her hands tag into his shirt and hold there, fighting the surge of semi annoyed impatience that rattles in her lungs. Her forehead shoves forward against his shoulder and she lets him wipe a kiss into her hair as she sighs, his thumb rounds her nipple while his fingers curve under her breast. She jerks her head back up when he slides his hand back down and pushes at her leg, shifting her back against the bed so that he can sit up.

“Don’t go too far,” she tones softly against him, voice light.

“M'not,” he murmurs with a smile, undoing his belt as she leans up on her hands, his shoulders relaxed and breathing entirely too even and controlled as she watches him, “not going anywhere, Kenz.”

She arches a brow and stays silent, eyes dropping over his hands as he undoes his pants at an annoyingly slow rate. He leans into the angle she's made without answering further, letting his pants stay riding on his hips but undone while he slopes their bodies together. She lets her head bank back on her shoulders, shivering up into him and the way he strokes his palm directly between her thighs and tests two fingers into wetness. His other hand braces beside her and Mac smiles into the slow and sliding way he rubs at her clit, both fingers rounding it and holding a steady rhythm while he licks against her throat.

He chuckles against the underside of her jaw when she loosens out a long moan and it reflexively makes her smile in response. She rolls her eyes into a laughing groan, whimpering when he strokes a finger into back into her. The tight and direct movements of his hand have her gripping him closer forward by the now untucked shirt but when she tries to pull him down farther on top of her he denies the movement, blocks it while shaking his head. She leans her palms back against the mattress, watching the darkened down angle of his head, the flexed tense of his jaw as he slides his fingers out before aiming them tightly back into her. He leans his mouth up against her jaw as she cages up a rattling moan and laughs against warm skin.

She lets her eyes slide closed with a self satisfied smirk as his thumb rasps on her clit again, fingers moving tighter and harder. Her fingers curl into the sheets as he presses her legs farther apart, mouth sliding her throat again as his fingers withdraw. She makes a pouted noise in her throat only a moment before she feels the way he's already sliding the head of his hard length into wetness, teasing it against her clit. His tongue licks warm around one of her nipples before he closes his lips and teeth against it, still teasing at her. An impatient noise grates off her throat as one of her hands cups against the back of his head, fingers pulling and twisting at his hair.

“ _Impatience_ ,” he whispers into a pleased laugh,“shoulda been your middle name.”

“I like Morgan just fine, thank you.” She counters quietly,with some snipe to her tone. “I've been more than patient this whole damn day.”

“A real saint.” He adds softly and lifts his mouth to ride against the curve of her cheekbone.

“ _Billy_.”

He laughs into her annoyance and strokes his palm against his length, aiming against her entrance and teasing at her. She drops her hands and tugs at the fabric of his pants, grappling at the way he's suddenly intently looking over her face, eyes going toward clear bright blue as both his free hand pulls at her thigh, the other shifting on the mattress with more of his weight. She catches the softened smile he gives her, leaning his head into hers to kiss her roughly as he jerks her thigh up onto his hip, angling a thrust that drives him deep into her. Mac tightens up a moment, fingers curling into his pants and white knuckling as he presses their foreheads together, his eyes closed.

“Mac?” he breathes out her name in a terse way that makes her sigh and lift a hand against his cheek, forcing him to hold stillness.

“It’s okay.” She nods quickly and strokes against his jaw. “I’m fine.”

“I love you.” He says it so softy that had she not known he was going to say it anyhow, she wouldn’t have heard what he had said.

She lifts her head so that her mouth meets up with his and she lets him control the speed and intensity of the slow repeated kisses as he starts a quick and jerked rhythm, a groan raking up out of his lungs that tells her he isn't going to last long enough that she has to worry about the way her back is already starting to protest. She focuses on shoving fabric away, musing on who is actually the impatient one. Thought he's obviously content with slowly kissing her she sucks against his tongue as he roughs his hips into hers and proves that his own patience has its limits, intentionally moving quick and hard into her.

She pulls her head back long enough to catch the bright glint of glossed eyes, “Don’t you go anywhere, Will.”

His lungs shudder at her as he drops his head against hers, eyes closed again as his fingers tighten even harder. She can feel the sting of welting bruises starting up at the gripped tightness of his hands, blood rushing the muscles warm as he speeds up even more. He growls his mouth back to hers as he gets closer to coming. She tightens her thighs and lower body, closing on him as he falters her down harder into the mattress. He comes hard and suddenly after a few more minutes and she shuts her eyes into it, hands bracing against his arms as she holds her breath and then hushes soothing whispers against the way he shudders forward.

She knows he's going to try and pull away and off her but her hands catch against his neck to block the movement, fingers rubbing sweated skin as she tucks him closer and wraps up on around him.

She's waited all day for a moment like this, just them sweat-locked and sated and there's no way in hell she's not gonna have it to herself.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the biggest mushy-mush ever. I debated doing this and had such a hard time deciding and then one of you simply sent an email that pretty much said "Hang on... is Mac pregnant?". So... here we are, back again. Hope you enjoy!

He's had two words hovering heavy on the top of his tongue since he'd watched MacKenzie stroke through Charlie's hair that morning, since he'd paused life just for a moment and watched how tightly she'd had their daughter curled inside a blanket that rightly should have gone in the laundry days before. Her fingers had seemed so long and loving in the dark blonde and there'd been some sort of weight against his tongue that had sat there and stayed all day long, pressing on him until it was utterly unavoidable.

He really had been thinking it all day, actually, despite her teasing. When he'd had the weight of her breasts in his hands he'd thought it. He'd really been thinking it when he'd watched her across the newsroom and studied the precise width of her hips... Hell, he'd even briefly thought it after she'd come on his tongue, his fingers, when she wouldn't let him come anywhere but buried inside her.

So they're so relaxed, those two words, when he finally says them.

When they come from between his lips they've been so ready all day that they almost seem lazy in their murmured delivery. “You're pregnant.”

He's just gone and lovingly carried Charlotte back to her own bed and it's the middle of the night so Mac's gone back to sleep and stolen half his side of the bed and so when he sits and says near the same again, “MacKenzie... you're - ”

“I most certainly - ”

She cuts herself off, really - and suddenly too. Her upper half twists back on the bed and one of her hands is wrestling dark hair off the pale of her face and he's not sure why he gets so smitten by her when she's bed-mussed but he always fucking does. It's just one of those things that's perennially brought him to his knees, her being disheveled.

Likely because she's otherwise so often in control (or trying to be, anyhow).

He can barely see her blink as she grips her hair back from her face but there's just enough light from the hall, from her nightlight. “What? How did you - ”

He leans forward from where he's sitting on the side of the bed, twisting the knob on the light and bringing a perturbed look across her face as brightness floods between the both of them, over-taking the shadowed haze. “So I'm right?”

“Will...” She's obviously perplexed, mussed, still half asleep and goddamn adorable. But there's concern tightening up the corners of her lips, pursing them up along with what's sure to be her innate sense of responsibility when it comes to not getting his hopes up or hurting him emotionally. She always gets that particular pinched look on her face when she's afraid of hurting his feelings or letting him down. “ _Billy_.”

And if she's wearing that look at three in the morning when he's essentially just demanded to know whether or not she's pregnant all over again?

When she's not denying it, at least not in any way that actually puts up a fight against telling him that he's right?

“I _am_ right?” He catches her face hard up into his hands, palms pressed to her flushed cheeks so that he can watch the the riotous colors in her eyes swirl darker. She blinks at him once, twice, then does what she can to just hold a blank look as he searches out secrets on her face. “ _Jesus_ , MacKenzie. Tell me 'yes'.”

Her head starts to shake negatively, seriousness darkening her features as she loosens her hair and grabs for his wrist instead. Her fingers loop around it and she squeezes as she goes more apologetic than expected. And he's not sure how to take it until she tells him “I'm not entirely sure.”

That's a line of bullshit and he knows it. Simply because she would instantly shut him down if, for one moment, she was questioning herself. She wouldn't allow the line of questioning if she wasn't at least eighty five percent sure of the result. So, _bullshit. Bull. Fucking. Shit_. She knows and she's guarding him, for his own emotional security. She _knows_ it.

“Yeah, you are. Or you wouldn't be telling me,” he accuses quietly, voice going terse and sharper than he's meant. He softens it as much as he can by reaching loosening her grip to turn his own onto her wrist, finding the inside of it and rubbing along the thinner skin.

Mac gives him a look that short on patience and long on accusation. “I _didn't_ tell you.”

“That's why you wanted to talk.” Will loosens back and off her as she pressed against his chest, one of her hands flat and forceful as she groans annoyance. A breath later and she's shoving at sheets, blankets, wrestling her way out of their bedclothes and off the bed with impatience. “That's why – wait, what do you mean by ' _not entirely sure_ '?”

She groans quietly as she reaches for her robe, yanks it from the stuffed chair and starts pulling it on over his ragged Clemson t-shirt. It draws his attention (the groan, the shirt, the robe, just her), makes him smirk as he watches her, makes him study each movement of her body judiciously. “I haven't even seen Catherine yet. I have an appointment scheduled but I haven't been yet.”

“You told me you wanted to talk tonight. This is why?”

She's at a loss, finally. No fight in her and sleepiness making her movements lazy and tired as she jerks the knot on her robe tighter. She's wary as he stands from the bed and approaches her but she doesn't stop him from grabbing at one of the ends tugging on it. “No, actually, I needed to speak to you about Elliot but since we're already having this conversation - ”

“Elliot?”

Mac just nods once and quick, unconsciously leaning into the way he's pulling her closer, one sure hand over the other on the silk belt and he loves drawing her in. He loves watching her get closer. “He's got an offer from CBS morning and I'm trying to decide if I want to give him an incentive to stay or just - ”

“Sorry, hon,” he tells her before kissing her softly and slowly, nipping at her bottom lip so she moans against his mouth and leans inwithout realizing. “You lost me at _I-don't-fucking-care-right-now_.”

“Well, obviously the discussion has - ”

“Why the fuck would Elliot even _consider_ daytime?” he argues suddenly, his demeanor brighter and half messing with her and nearly laughing at the frozen look of confusion on her features. It takes a beat and a chaste kiss from him to bring her back from frustration, from exasperation.

She impatiently slaps at his bare upper arm, half playful and near laughing as he loops her closer by the waist, hooking around her and fingering deep blue silk. “ _Will_!”

He's got to kiss her, really. It's imperative.

It's breath to him and undeniable. Absolutely necessary.

“Are you or aren't you?” he demands on a hush as she sighs against his lips. He's anxious for an answer, obviously overly-excited and exasperated at once. Both his palms are broad and warm and she can't to help but laugh at his exuberance, his bright sparkled silliness and how very happy he is just by the very possibility that... just by the mere chance...

He feels her cheeks warm beneath the brushing heat of calloused fingers and she lets her eyes flutter shut as he wipes his thumbs under her eyes, “I don't know.”

“ _MacKenzie_.”

There's something about the way she smiles at him sometimes, silken and sensual and that smile is likely the very reason that he has a daughter in the world already. “I think, yes.”

She thinks, _yes_.

He'll accept that until morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Four in the morning and Charlotte is back in their bed (on his chest and star-fished, of course) and in twenty four hours nothing has changed but his world is simultaneously completely different than it was. He has his wife and daughter both curled into his arms and neither one of them are conscious, neither aware of the fact that they create the boundaries of his world, each of them their own perimeter.

Neither of them are entirely aware that without them he believes that he's worthless, he's nothing.

He knows it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, but he'd die soon after if he ever lost them both.

He can't help but dig his fist tighter into his wife's hair and clutch her closer, kissing against her temple until she moans and stretches farther into him in her sleep. Mac's fingers lift from where she's had her hand pressed against their daughter and instead she pushes against his jaw, playfully slapping at him in supposed annoyance. He chuckles and nips at her fingers, sighs into the feeling of her stroking her palm against his cheek and when he turns his head at an angle to look at her she's already smiling at him sleepily. Her chin lifts so that she can set it against his chest and he can barely meet her glance as she starts to rub a line along his bottom lip, back and forth.

“Sometimes I feel like this can't possibly be real.” Will's whisper is made more of breath than sound and he catches the way she watches his lips in the half light, the middle-nightlight. “Like it's more than I deserve.”

“It _is_ that,” she says with a sweet tone and grins, the smile widening as he chuckles in answer to her sass. “But we like you just enough, Mr McAvoy.”

“ _We_?” He taunts, watching her flush a little in pleasure.

Her smile stays broad and beautiful, encompassing as she snugs back down against him, a hushing sound pressed against Charlie's hair as the girl fusses in her sleep. He realizes quickly that she's not going to answer and there's no more discussion as she cuddles them all closer and comforts Charlie's dreaming. No discussion, just sleep and they'll sort everything later,when they have more information. Double confirmation territory, for sure. 

And he's all right with that, really. He's got all he needs in his arms and under the stalwart shine of a generic nightlight.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm divorcing you as soon as possible, Shithead." // “Mm'kay, but first we have a mega-fuck-ton of pre-natal vitamins to buy so go put your shoes on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I didn't even know this chapter was coming until it was already mostly written.

Catherine's voice is still heavily treading her thoughts, both the words and the precise tone of voice the other woman had used tracking over them. It had been soft and warm but insistent, persistent. Her obstetrician had been especially frank about being extremely proactive, cautious, about being mindful and watchful and monitoring most everything. Mac can already feel herself bristling at the idea of constantly being poked or prodded at - or even just having Will hover at her shoulder every moment of the day. It's already flinching her shoulders tighter and cording tension up the long stretch at the back of her neck. But regardless... the older woman had also sounded sweetly excited, just the same as she had sounded about five years before.

And Will is beautiful as she moves into the living room, stretched back long and still in the recliner. His whole body is laxed back and lanked out with their daughter cradled between his arm and side and they're both wearing hoodies and the pale of sleep, the stillness of an afternoon nap. She keeps her tea curled in one palm and lifts the other to meet the free hand he lifts as she nears the chair.

“Work?”

“No,” she whispers softly, her fingertips stretching to brush along his temple, riding the edge of his hairline until she can tease the back of his ear and force his head angling reflexively toward her. She enjoys the moment, the rest of his body entirely still as his head ducks into the curling of her palm. Mac sighs as she lightly runs her nails against his scalp and has him groaning. “Catherine. She apologized for not being available when we were in. She'd been called to the hospital.”

Charlie shifts a little against him and Mac snorts a slim little laugh at the way he jerks his head up from her flinging fist, the way her whole hand shunts abruptly toward his jaw. His head snaps up just fast enough that he just barely gets clipped by their midget ninja and he chuckles along with her, eyes bright and glossed in their blue as he matches her bemused look.

He arches a brow, still studying her face as she looks down over Charlotte instead. She allows him to take her tea from her, half gone and mostly tepid. He carefully leans it over Charlie to set it to the table on his other side. And in watching him she realizes that there's something about Sunday evenings that makes her heart swell up too big for the rest of her and she can't help but appreciate the image they make as they cuddle together.

“Yeah? She have any news?”

Because Sunday evenings are solely for them, not for the news or politics or the rest of the world that wants him.

Not for ACN or CNN or the fact that one of the major networks has been back channel flirting with her husband and she's wondering how long it'll be before it's _the Nightly News with Will McAvoy_ at six pm...

But things like that don't matter after they've gone to Mass (sometimes) and had their brunch (all times) and played in the park (most times). Even today they'd exhausted themselves splashing in the fountain and scampering around Bethesda Terrace and the fact that she's on the verge of possibly losing her biggest on-air talent just doesn't factor into weekend-nap-in-daddy's-recliner time.

“Mmm,” she agrees just by the hum in her throat. MacKenzie lifts her hand and strokes into his hair again, curls her fingertips down the back of his ear and does her best to distract him.

It absolutely does _not_ work.

Not when the answer he's waiting for is something he's so desperately focused on (and has been for days, really).

“And?” Will demands, louder than necessary and shoving his head farther against her fingers to implore her.

“Shhhh,” she hisses through her teeth as Charlie shifts and grunts a strange little noise in her sleep. Their child has an internal store of sounds that Mac just hasn't yet been able to categorize. “She's just given me a lecture about being especially proactive this time.”

“Because we were likely to be lazy and irresponsible this time around?” he says, and grins. And, God, she's made it a mission in her life to make him smile so genuinely, so blissfully, as often as fucking possible. Because that smile, the one that says he's truly happy, it doesn't belong to his audience or his staff, not often. It belongs to her, to their own family.

Mac studies the exact half curve of his smile, ingrains it in her memory. “She keeps not-so-subtly reminding me of my age.”

“It's gonna be fine, sweetheart.” He's grinning and completely thrilled and he has no ability at all to hide the fact that he's not just over the moon – he's damn well circled it once or twice already. “Frankly, Mac, we're already being tested.”

She blinks as she notes the way his jaw dips and she feels herself match his grin reflexively, her smile so wide it near hurts as she fusses at her daughter's shirt. “No, she's an absolute angel.”

“Of unavoidable destruction,” he finishes ominously, voice graveled and wary even while elated. “Babe, she's repugnant eighty percent of the time. I don't know whether she actually came from us or underneath a large rock somewhere.”

She simply arches a brow and does her best not to give in and laugh, patiently waiting out his playfulness.

He has ever been obstinate when it comes to making her laugh, though. And especially when she's trying to do anything _but_ encourage him. “Maybe she's like a Golem or something? Would we have to be Jewish for that? I dunno.”

“Billy, _stop_.” Her happiness breaths up from her lungs and tips a laugh over her lips despite herself and she can feel the heat in his answering smile.

“Because the way she wakes up in the morning is fucking horrific.”

She can't help but laugh for him again, tugging against his fingers, “Oh, shush yourself.”

“Takes after her mother, actually,” he murmurs, voice dropped low but sensual and thrumming as he tugs at her hand. He's got her wrist lifted and locked along with his and he tugs just right to draw her off balance, tugging her onto the side of the recliner. Mac leans into sitting, doing her best to keep balance as he grins. She shifts a little to find purchase on the arm of the chair, keeping upright and facing him, one foot lifted up from the floor and her weight pressing onto the other. Will loosens her fingers enough that he can brush a kiss on her knuckles before loosening her hand and dropping his palm into her lap, fingers facing upward.

He laxes back entirely and she drags a glance down the front of him, getting caught up in the cute little way Charlie grumbles at them and snugs her face deeper into her father's red and white Nebraska sweatshirt. She's obviously absolutely over her parents and would rather they both just shut it, posthaste. Mac reaches over despite her daughter's grumping, tucking loose curls back into a near semblance of order. An order that just bounces back into silken blonde chaos as soon as she lets go again, bringing a smile up over her lips.

She can feel the way Will is watching her with a grin, the heat that radiates from him and the comfort that lives in how calm he is between them. “Can't believe I let you get me pregnant again.”

Will just snorts and she can see him drop his head back entirely in her peripheral. His whole body drops loosely against the chair and his knuckles brush against her hip, his free hand stroking down the side of her. His palm stretches out over the top of her thigh and she lays her hand over top of his while he teases at her. “Well, you _are_ irresponsible. Even Catherine thinks so.”

Mac just rolls her eyes and shoves his hand off her, trying not to smirk when he laughs at her petulance. “I'm divorcing you as soon as possible, Shithead.”

He's smug and gorgeous as he turns his head and downs his chin against his daughter's hair, rubbing his jaw against soft blonde, eyelids drooping closed. His voice is haughty though, heated and valved as she stands from the side of the chair and starts to walk away. “Mm'kay, but first we have a mega-fuck-ton of pre-natal vitamins to buy so go put your shoes on.”

“After her nap,” she tosses behind her, one palm flattened against her stomach so that her fingers are spread out and pressing warm. She slips her fingertips under her waistband (while she still can) and the smile that lays onto her lips is utterly unavoidable, she can't deny the movement.

His chuckle follows after her and she can near feel him turn his head to watch her leave, feel his eyes on the back of her. “Yes, ma'am.”


End file.
